


Dandelions

by mmmargo



Series: Before and After [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Ukrainian Mickey Milkovich, also they take care of carl and liam, mickey has a talk, possibly OOC mickey milkovich, this was longer expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29234835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmargo/pseuds/mmmargo
Summary: mickey has a chat with his mom
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Before and After [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121858
Comments: 5
Kudos: 94





	Dandelions

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how much I like how this turned out but here we are. I've literally been working on this for what feels like years so I'm happy it's finally done. I hope you enjoy. (mickey might be a little out of character here but I was trying to have him be a little more emotionally intelligent)

_ “Ian, Ian, Ian. Mandy said hi and that she loves you, okay, let's dance.” _

_ “Jesus, Mick, did you find a bar on your way back from the bathroom.?”  _

_ “Shut up and dance with me,  _ husband _.”  _

_ Mickey emphasized the words, husbands, husbands, husbands, he had a husband, he was a husband. He is Ian’s husband. Ian Gallagher is his husband.  _

_ Ian laughed and hopped off his stool, careful of his broken leg. Mickey grabbed Ian’s wrist and led him to the center of the room, next to Sandy and Liam, who were dancing along to the music.  _

_ “I met this woman. She said she was your aunt, your mom's side or something.”  _

_ “My mom didn’t have any sisters. She had a brother though but he’s fucking dead I think.” _

_ “Shit, well, she told me to tell you something. It was like Ukrainian I think.” _

_ “Like you know Ukrainian. Whatever man, fuck her, she wanted to talk to me then she would have talked to me. Just fucking dance, man.” _

_ Ian grabbed Mickey by the waist and forgot all about the woman with black hair and pale skin who spoke with a Slavic accent. He forgot about her blue eyes that reminded him of Mickey because here was Mickey, his husband, dancing next to him.  _

\---

Liam sat on the porch of the Gallagher house. It was cold outside today, there was snow on the ground and frost in the air. The chill was biting but Frank was currently yelling about how ungrateful his children were to the point where Liam couldn’t hear himself think, so he decided he would stay out here Ian and Mickey get back to deal with him.

He couldn’t really pinpoint where things started to change, he guessed the shift was so gradual, he barely noticed it. Everyone started to move out, first Fiona, then Lip, and finally Debbie got her own place with Sandy and Franny about five minutes away. The only people who were left in the house were Ian and Mickey, Carl, and Liam. Their situation was kind of nice, having everyone so close together yet not piled on top of each other like they were when they were all living together. It was odd that he didn’t find himself worried everyone else would go off on their own and leave him behind with no one other than  _ Frank _ , but that was the other thing that changed. 

Ian and Mickey started getting more involved in things right before Debbie left. Some nights, Mickey would come home with dinner for everyone and Ian would tell Liam to go clean up before he ate. Other nights Ian would cook something and have Carl help him cut vegetables or boil noodles while Mickey and Liam sat in the living room picking out movies for them to watch. They would sign his permission slips for him to go on field trips, go to his academic events, and drive him to school. 

It was very domestic. All very family-like. 

So there he saw, awaiting his pseudo-guardians return. That was when a woman walked up to the house. She looked shifty, her eyes kept flickering back and forth and she wrung her hands. She wore a long, beige coat over a black dress that went a little past her knees, Liam wondered how she wasn’t cold. Her black hair was done up in a frizzy ponytail, poofing out all over the place. She was very thin and pale and looked as if she hadn’t eaten in days. 

Liam has lived on the southside for long enough to know he shouldn’t make eye-contact with this woman but for some reason, he ended up locking eyes with her. 

He started to retreat back inside, he would rather deal with Frank than a crazy woman. 

Then the woman yelled, “Wait! You know a Mickey Milkovich, yes?” 

She spoke with an accent, her voice equally as panicked as her demeanor. Liam looked back and surveyed her, he shook his head, “Never heard of him.”

The woman shook her head frantically, “I’m an old friend. He knows me, I haven’t seen him in so long, I wanted to stop by and,” she paused and searched for words, “talk to him.”

Liam shrugged, “Sorry, don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Does he go by Mickey Gallagher now? He is married to a Gallagher, I know, and he was supposed to be living here, in this house with his husband, yes? I am not with Terry or anyone else, I swear. I would just like to see him. Please?”

Liam looked at her more closely, she had soft but wrinkled skin and her hair looked like it was starting to grey. Little strands of white contrasted against the ebony of her hair and her eyes were a very distinct blue. 

“You a relative?” 

She paused and nodded. 

“What do you want with him?”

She rolled her eyes and scratched her eyebrow, “I have already explained this,” she gestured greatly with her hands, “I want to talk. He and I,” she stopped again, “were very close.”

Liam nodded, “Okay. Fine. He’s not here. He’s at work.”

“блядь пекло, are you serious? When will he be back?” 

Liam shrugged even though he knew the answer. It would probably take ten more minutes for Mickey to get home today and five for Ian, depending on traffic. 

“How do you know Mikhailo, little one?” 

Liam disregarded the creepy phrasing of the question and answered, “He’s my brother’s husband.” 

She laughed, “Ah, I see. And you all live in this house together?” She walked over and sat down on the porch step, Liam guessed she had no intention of moving until Mickey got back. 

“Yeah. Well, just me, my other older brother, and Ian and Mickey now.” 

“You sound sad. Why?” 

“‘M not. I miss some of the other people who used to live in the house but Ian and Mickey are nice. They help me with my homework a lot. And make me dinner.” 

The woman nodded and smiled, “My Mickey is very good with numbers. Not so good with cooking, though”

“Your Mickey?”

The woman nodded and looked back at Liam, “Why are you out here? It is freezing, you will catch a cold,” 

Liam shrugged, “I’ll be fine. You’re the one wearing a dress, shouldn’t you be cold?”

“Yes, but I have experienced much colder temperatures than this. You are child, though, you must be warmed and protected,” the woman said bluntly. 

Liam rolled his eyes at the comment but felt more a little safer, she seemed warm and welcoming, like if he were injured, she would have a first aid kit ready on hand.

“Liam, buddy, what are you doing out here?” He heard the familiar voice call. He looked up and saw Ian, bundled in a beanie and winter coat, walking up to the house. His eyes caught on to the woman and he immediately tensed. 

“Who are you?” Ian surveyed the woman similar to Liam. 

“Oh, Ian, you look wonderful,” The woman gasped and stood up. 

“I asked you a question. Liam, go inside.”

Liam did as he was told and disappeared inside the house. 

The woman rolled her eyes, “Jesus, what, are you expecting assassins? What is with your wariness?” She sounded exasperated. 

“Wait, do I know you? You look familiar.” 

“Ah, good memory. Excellent. I was at your wedding, we talked at the bar, remember?” 

Ian looked her up and down, “Uh-huh. You’re Mickey’s aunt, right? His mom’s side?” 

She nodded, “Yes, yes. I was hoping to talk with him-”

“Mickey said his mom didn’t have any sisters, though.”

She blanched and paused for a moment before regaining her composure, “Well, you weren’t nearly this rude the last time we spoke. It is very impolite to interrupt a lady, you know that? Disgraceful. But no matter, as for what Mikhailo told you. No, technically she does not - did not - I mean, have any sisters. I am not her biological sister, I was her friend, you know, very close, Like this.” She crossed her fingers and smiled. 

Ian hesitated but smiled back, “Oh, you must be cold, wanna come inside?” 

She nodded, “Yes, thank you.” 

“I never got your name, by the way.” 

“Laura.” 

Ian nodded and led her inside by putting a hand on her upper back. 

“You are still so charming. Mikhailo is very lucky to have someone this kind.”

Ian opened the door, “I think it’s the other way around but thank you.”

Laura nodded, “How sweet. When will Mikhailo be home?” she sounded nervous. 

“Just a couple of minutes. Liam!”

Liam tumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen, “What?”

“Why were you outside in the cold?” There was concern clear in Ian’s voice as his eyes softened when he looked at the twelve-year-old. Liam shrugged his shoulders and mumbled something. 

“What was that, mumbles?” Ian smiled and looked down at the child. 

“Frank was here. He was just yelling kind of loud,” Liam looked at the ground and shrugged his shoulders.

Ian huffed and raised his voice, “Frank got in? Damn it, how?” 

He forgot that Laura was still standing in the middle of the living room and he turned around, “Come sit down in the kitchen. Do you want a beer? Or coffee or something?”

“A beer would be lovely, thank you.” Laura pulled the chair and sat down at the kitchen island. Ian opened the fridge and dug around for a beer. 

Behind them, Liam had made to go back up to his room but Ian stopped him, “Ah, don’t think you’re going anywhere. How did Frank get in?” 

“I left the door unlocked,” he muttered and shamefully looked at the ground. 

Ian passed Laura the beer. He sighed and walked over to Liam, he bent down to look up at him, “That’s not your fault, you know? It’s okay, if he comes back, that just gives us an excuse to pepper spray him.” Liam giggled and Ian playfully knocked Liam’s chin with his fist and stood back up. 

“Now, go get your homework and come down here to do it. Call me if you need any help, okay? Mickey will be home in a minute to help you with math if you need it.” 

Liam nodded and ran back up to the room. 

Ian turned back to the woman, she looked almost tearful at the scene, “So what did you want to talk to Mickey about?” 

Laura didn’t respond immediately, she just sighed and tilted her head down and fiddled with her beer, “I have some very important news that I need to share with him. With Mandy as well but I did not know her address so I thought I should speak with him first.”

Ian didn’t pry anymore, he just nodded. He took out his phone and sent a text to Mickey, asking when he would be home. Mickey shot back almost instantly and told him he was on his way. 

\---

Mickey huffed out a breath and shivered.  _ It’s cold as shit.  _ He brought his gloved hands up to his mouth and blew into them, rubbing them together. He then tucked his phone back into his pocket.

_ If Gallagher would stop prying, I would get home sooner.  _

He looked at the blue flowers in his hand, wrapped in old newspaper. Today was January 25th, almost two years after they said their I do’s. 

Mickey started getting that stupid feeling in the pit of his stomach, this was gay, buying flowers for his husband the day before their two year anniversary.  _ No, not gay, vulnerable.  _

It was something he had just started working on. Figuring out how he actually felt about things. It wasn’t that this was a gay thing, it was that this was something vulnerable and personal, a gesture that made him feel too exposed. 

So, no. This wasn’t gay. 

_ I’m not a pussy for caring, _ he repeated to himself like a mantra. His therapist phrased it differently, something like vulnerability doesn’t make you weak, but he liked his way better. 

He didn’t feel as gay for saying it,  _ wait shit no.  _

It was a process, shedding the ideas that were shoved in his face and down his throat by his father that kept him caged for the majority of his life. But now, he was working on it. That’s what Ian told him when he would get frustrated with himself when all he wanted to do was smash something and yell and cry. Ian made it better. He was working on it and that’s what mattered. 

Ian always kissed his cheek and told him it was going to be okay. His mother used to do that, or as much as she could with Terry as a constant looming threat. His mom would hold him and his siblings tight in her arms. Then she died. He didn’t have any to hold him that tightly until Ian and his stupid red hair and green eyes and tire iron came bouncing into his room. 

So here he was, going home to his husband and two kids the day before their two year anniversary with flowers. How the kid thing happened, Mickey wasn’t sure. 

Sure, he would drive Carl to work sometimes and bring home food for all of them but he didn’t think it would lead to this. Not that he was complaining. After Debbie left about a year ago, he and Ian were now the only actual adults in the place so of course when Liam needed help with his math homework, Mickey would help, he wasn’t a monster. And if Liam needed a guardian to come to his science fair, yeah Ian and Mickey could clear their schedule. And-

_ Okay, when I think about it, I guess it was pretty obvious where it was headed.  _

Now, when people would ask if he had kids, he would say no - like always - but he got to say he and his husband take care of Ian’s little brothers, and god, did that make him happy. He would show them pictures of Liam winning his science fair or Ian in his EMT uniform (because he was that person now and he couldn’t find it in his heart to complain). 

Mickey rounded the fence in their front yard and practically ran up to the front door. He takes out his key and unlocked the door, pushing inside. As soon as he steps into the threshold of their home, he sees Carl on the couch in the living room. 

“Sup, Mickey. Your aunt or whatever’s here. She’s in the kitchen. Do you want Chinese for dinner? I’m feeling Chinese,” Carl turned around to look at Mickey. 

“My aunt?” Mickey started to shed his gloves and coat. 

“Yeah. She said she’s a relative. Looks just like you, dude. So Chinese or what?” 

Mickey nodded and fanned his hand, “Whatever, yeah. We’ll do takeout.” 

Dinner didn’t really matter to him much. He would make sure Carl and Liam ate but as long as it wasn’t snickers, he was fine.

He made his way to the kitchen where he could see Liam giggling at the dinner table, his body relaxed at the sight and sound. Two more people were laughing. He identified one as Ian, breathy and happy. The other he knew was familiar but he couldn’t place it. 

“Ian, who is-?” 

He entered the kitchen. Liam was sitting at the table, still giggling, his homework spread out in front of him. Ian was leaning against the kitchen island, smiling widely at Mickey. 

And right in front of him was a woman. She had frizzy black hair done up in a ponytail, white streaks were visible mostly due to the contrast in color. Her skin was porcelain white and smooth, she was so pale; she almost looked like a ghost. Her eyes were blue, the same blue he saw when he looked in the mirror, the same blue he saw when he looked at his sister, the same blue he grew up looking into. As he continued looking at her, there were frown lines around her mouth, small, almost unnoticeable wrinkles framing her eyes. 

His blood went cold. She smiled. 

He felt dizzy, the whole room was spinning and spinning and he couldn’t stop it. He needed to sit down. He needed to get to Ian, maybe to Liam. Maybe he needed to get them out of here. Maybe he needed to leave. His throat closed up, he couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he gasped for air. His face got hot and he couldn’t move. He could just stand there and watch a ghost make his husband and kid laugh. 

A ghost. 

A ghost. 

\---

_ Mickey had been sitting in juvy, waiting for the time to pass. He stared up at the ceiling and imagined a certain redhead with green eyes, grinning at him like a fool.  _

_ He wondered if Ian would visit, not that he cared of course, why would he care? Just cause he sticks it to him doesn’t mean he’s in love. Just cause he makes Mickey’s heart clench and mouth go dry doesn’t mean he’s in love. Love wasn’t something that went over well in his family. _

_ If you love something, crush it because it can only be used against you. _

_ It can only ever leave you or be taken from you.  _

_ So don’t love. Or at least don’t show it. So that’s what he did, that’s what he  _ had _ to do. Ian didn’t understand that though, Ian gave love like he was made of it. Mickey was starting to think he was. Ian seemed to have an infinite supply of love and affection like he wasn’t afraid to give it and show it and name it.  _

_ He wondered how he managed to do that, show and tell something that was that personal and vulnerable. But he did it. He gave it and he didn’t take it back when he was finished. It amazed Mickey. Not that he cared, he reminded himself over and over that he didn’t care. Why would he? Is he some kind of bitch?  _

_ No, he’s a Milkovich. Milkovich’s aren’t pussies.  _

_ Milkovich’s don’t cry and they sure as fuck don’t lo- _

_ His mom is dead. _

_ Mandy came by to tell him. She left a couple of days ago and she was staying in a motel and there was a fire and they couldn’t recover the body and she was burned alive and she’s not coming back.  _

_ She’s dead.  _

_ Dead, dead, dead. It seems like an imaginary concept. His mother is dead and there is nothing he can do about it. What could he do for Mandy? What could he do for himself? _

_ He can’t cry. If he cries, he’s weak and he isn’t weak. Milkovich’s aren’t weak.  _

_ Crying would do nothing anyway, crying just makes it worse. When his dad hit him and he cried, Terry would only hit harder. _

_ He won’t cry. He won’t cry for his mother. He won’t cry for her warm smile. He won’t cry for her warm voice. He won’t cry for warm eyes. He won’t cry because he’ll never see it again. He won’t cry because he will never be held again. He won’t cry because he will never love- _

_ No, no, Milkovich’s don’t love. Milkovich's don’t love anything or anyone and he sure as fuck won’t be the outlier here.  _

_ Love only makes you weak. And he isn’t fucking weak.  _

_ \--- _

“Hello, Mikhailo.” There were tears in her eyes and she laughed out a sob. 

“No.” No to everything. No to her crying because she doesn’t fucking get to. No to her smiling at him like she isn’t fucking dead. No to her coming in here and making his husband and Liam laugh. No, because this doesn’t make any fucking sense. 

“Mikhailo, please, I know this is a lot to handle but I need to speak with you.”

“No,” he says again because  _ damn it, is she deaf?  _

He realized other people are still in the room. Ian looks back and forth between them. He starts to move toward Mickey, “What’s going on?” Ian touches his arm and rubs his shoulder. Ian knows how fucked Mickey’s family is so he probably just assumes he has issues with his  _ aunt.  _ She told them she was his aunt. She lied to them. She lied to Ian and Liam and Carl. She lied to his family.

She lied to him. 

“You’re dead.” 

Liam piped up, “Woah, what?” 

“Liam, go upstairs. You too, Carl!” Ian yells back to Carl, who groans and turns off the television. Mickey can hear it vaguely. Even though Ian is right next to his ear, he sounds far away. He sounds distant. He can hear Liam’s little footsteps as he runs up to his room. He can hear Ian’s breathing. He can hear his mom’s little sobs. 

But everyone sounds far away. 

“Mikhailo, listen-”

Ian puts a hand up, “What did he mean when he said you’re dead?” 

Laura huffs and rubs her forehead, “Okay, I may have extended the truth a little, yes? Now, when I said I was a friend of his mother, I lied. I am not so much a friend of his mom as I  _ am _ his mom.”

“Mickey, this is your mom?” 

Mickey drops the flowers he forgot he was holding and turns around. He walks out, not even running, just walking. What is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to say? 

He laughs hysterically and continues walking until he feels a big hand grab his arm and gently spin him around.

“Mickey, hey, talk to me. What’s happening? Who is this?” 

“це моя мама,” he didn’t mean to say it in Ukrainian. He and his mother always spoke the language with each other. They always whispered good mornings and I love you’s in the language. It was theirs. He stopped speaking it after she died, only ever occasionally cursing or maybe trying to teach Ian a word but he never had full conversations with anyone in Ukrainian other than his mother. It felt wrong to say her name let alone speak her language. 

“Okay, I know I heard mama in there,” Ian whispered with a ridiculous amount of seriousness. 

“Sorry, that’s my mom, Ian.” 

“I thought she was dead.”

“Yeah, so did I.” Mickey chuckled but couldn’t stop the tears from spilling out. 

While they spoke in hushed tones, Laura was patiently waiting in the kitchen doorway. She brushed tears away and held her head up, straightening her posture.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else to talk."

"No, whatever you wanna say, Ian is here, so fucking deal with it," Mickey all but screamed. 

Ian flinched back but didn't let go of Mickey's arm. He held on firm, not enough to hurt him but enough to let him know he's here. 

"Mick, are you sure you want me here?" Ian whispered into Mickey's ear. Mickey nodded firmly and headstrong. 

Laura breathed in, "Mikhailo, I know I have hurt you. I am not asking for you to love me or even tolerate me. You have every right to hate me and I am not trying to take your feelings away. I just have something to tell you."

"Then fucking say it already!" 

"I'm dying, Mikhailo!"

The room was silent. All that could be heard were Laura's quiet, muffled sobs. 

Mickey paused and laughed, “Didn’t you already do that?” 

Laura chuckled along, “I suppose I did. I found out a week ago. I really feel like I should explain this somewhere private. I am sorry, Ian, I do not mean to be rude,” 

“Ian’s stayin’ here,'' Mickey told her again, letting anger seep into his voice. It was a wonder that he hadn’t stabbed her with a fork yet. 

Laura sighed and smiled, “You are still just as headstrong as you were when you were a little boy, you know?” she turned toward Ian, “Mikhailo was the most unruly little boy you would ever come across I tell you.”

“Yeah, I think we can take a walk down memory lane later, ma. Just fucking explain so I can kick you out already,” Mickey sneered. 

Laura took a deep breath and sat down on the couch, “I was a coward. When I was a girl, I came to this country. I thought it would be something from a dream,” she laughed, “it was not. I did what I had to do to survive, like everyone here. So I worked for these people, though they were not very nice people. Mikhailo, you know what I used to do, yes?”

Mickey nodded. His mom was a prostitute. He’s known that since he was five, she never seemed to be ashamed of it. He thought back on his father talking about whores and cunts and bitches versus his mother talking about sex workers and feminists and  _ women.  _ It created an odd mix of reactions. On one hand, Terry’s voice was louder, he barked out these terms and called anyone who didn’t a pussy and gay so Mickey would force out these words through gritted teeth. At some point, it stopped being forced and it transitioned into how he spoke because that’s what he learned. On the other hand, he had his mother talking to him softly about how he should never hit women, which he was appalled his mother ever thought he would. He had his mother referring to herself as a sex-worker instead of a whore like his father would describe her. He thinks that's one of the reasons he felt so strongly about Svetlana’s situation at first. Laura typically balanced out Terry’s opinions but his father was just louder, more persuasive through his screams and fists and furry. Though, he found that his mother’s sweet voice stuck to his heart more.

Laura continued, “Right, well they were not the most accommodating bosses. That was around the time I met Terry. He was one of my clients, it was really an accident. Or maybe it was not, I am not really sure what his intentions were. I do not regret having your eldest brother, but he was a surprise. Terry offered to marry me, he told me he would take care of it, of me. And what was I to do, you know? I could not say no, I could not afford to abort and I could not raise this child on my own so I married him. He would, um,” she stopped again, mustering the courage to continue, “hit me. Crack me across the face because I broke a plate, small things. I was terrified he would do something like that to my children so I would try to leave. Go somewhere, anywhere else would have been better than him. Every time I would try, well, you can imagine how happy he was when he found us. I just had more children, it became harder and harder to gather you up. To keep you safe. 

“One night, I bumped into him fairly hard, knocked him back a little. He was just so drunk and he- well, that night was worse than most. That was the night. While you were in juvie and Mandy was out and Terry was asleep. I ran. I do not know what I was thinking. I just needed to run and hide for a while. And so I went to this dingy little motel and stayed there for a while. I started to form a plan in my head. I would wait it out. I would leave and get a place for us to stay, yes? Somewhere far away from him and the Southside and thugs. I would come back for you and tell you to pack your bags and take you away somewhere safe. Then about a week later, while I was out, the motel burned down. I am not sure how it happened but somewhere along the line, they thought I was in the fire. Burned alive. They showed it on the news and everything. Terry thought I was dead, my children thought I was dead. It was almost perfect in that sense, he was not looking for me. I could leave and find our safe haven without being worried I was being tracked. And I did, I found a place, it took me a while, a year, but I did it. I went back to the house but I did not go inside, as you might have guessed. I did not try to find you. I just left. The longer I stayed away, the harder it was to come back. I was scared of Terry finding me, of him finding me alive and realizing what I did. I was a coward. So I lived my life but you never left my thoughts. Every day I thought of you. I love you, Mikhailo. I love your sister and your brothers and I never wanted you to think differently. You will always be my кульбаба, always.

“I found out I am sick, Mikhailo. They want me to start treatment but I could not before I came back. Before I told you how much I love you, my little кульбаба.”

She finished. Ian and Mickey stood and stared. There were tears in Mickey’s eyes, he sniffled. He’s not sure what he should say. His mind is blank yet rushing with thoughts.

“I need a smoke.” 

\---

While Mickey was outside “having a smoke,” even though Ian knew he was more likely just sitting on the porch steps, resisting the urge to kill, Ian stayed inside. He watched Liam quietly creep back downstairs and sit down at the table to finish his homework. He smiled. 

“You and Mickey take care of child together, yes?” Laura piped up. Her voice sounded scratchy and paper-thin as a result of tears. 

Ian looked at her, at her red blotchy face and puffy eyes, and nodded, “For a while now. The other one too, although, he’s about twenty now…” Ian trailed off. 

The conversation was no longer easy like before he found out this woman abandoned his husband, now it was stilted and the air was uncomfortable. No matter what he did or how he shifted, it wasn’t getting any easier. 

“Well, they’re cute when they’re younger, are they not? Mikhailo was never like that though, your Liam seems much tamer than Mickey ever was. Or any of my children.”

Ian smiled at the thought of little Mickey running around wreaking havoc on the neighborhood and his mother. He supposed Mickey had always been like this, wild and stubborn and headstrong and unyielding. He wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Though that didn’t mean Mickey wasn’t soft, wasn’t vulnerable, or sensitive. He was. That side of him was just crushed under the weight of Terry’s heavy fists. He always had it in him but it was hidden away, deep inside him, it was only now that Mick was coming to terms with it. Going to therapy, learning about terms like PTSD, anxiety, and panic attacks. He was learning to control his anger and fear and tried to talk with Ian about things that upset him, never letting his reactions get over the top and fearsome. Ian was proud, he knew Mickey got frustrated when he tried to speak and the words got caught in his throat and refused to come out, so he reminded him of all the work he’s done, how far he’s come. Because he really has, they both have. 

They escaped. They got out, not of the neighborhood, but out of the cycles and repeats and regrettable choices. They escaped from the abuse and homophobia and jail cells and undiagnosed mental disorders and here they were.  _ Happy.  _

Then he remembered that here was Laura. Mickey’s mother who he talks about and loves, back from the dead. She showed up on their doorstep and drudged up old scars. 

“Are you sure you do not want to go and speak with him?” Laura asked, snapping Ian from his thoughts. 

“I’m not the one he wants to talk to.”

“How do you know this?” 

Ian shrugged, “I just do. At a certain point it stopped being a guessing game, we just,” he paused, “know. He doesn’t wanna talk to me because he knows I’m here and that’s enough, he wants to talk to you because he doesn’t know where you stand, he needs to know.” 

Laura blanched and stuttered, “I-what-how do you mean where I stand?” 

Ian raised his eyebrows again, “You’ll figure it out.” 

“Ian!” Liam called, “I need help with math.” 

Ian got up and walked over to him. Laura heard him muttering something. 

“Mickey’s busy right now, bud. I’ll try though,” he ruffled his hair and Laura stared after him. 

She stood up and patted down her dress. In the other room, she could vaguely hear Ian speaking to Liam. 

_ Where do I stand?  _ She didn’t know.  _ Does he want me back in his life? Could he forgive me?  _

She nodded her head, understanding she needed to face her son, that’s why she showed here, she had hidden for too long. She slowly walked toward the door and opened it. 

On the porch was Mickey, right where he said he would be, sat down, smoking and holding himself. 

She stepped out and sat on the ground next to him. She held out a hand and he passed her the cigarette. 

They sat in silence for several minutes before Mickey spoke. 

“Why did you come back? Why now?” 

“Mikhailo, I have already told you. I am dying. I do not want to get into details but I suppose it only makes sense. Penance, you know?” she took a long drag of the cigarette. 

There was more silence. The world seemed to stand still as mother and son sat in the awkward yet peaceful silence. There was a chill in the air and down the street, children were screaming and playing in the distance. Then-

“He raped Mandy. Got her pregnant.”

Laura snapped her head to the side. Her face flushed and she found it hard to breathe, “He did what?” 

She knew how horrible Terry was. She knew because she experienced it all, she saw it all but she would have never had guessed that he would-

“He raped me,” Mickey nodded and there was a choked off laugh that sounded more like a sob than anything else, “It took me so long to admit that shit. That it wasn’t Svetlana. That it wasn’t weak for saying it. That it wasn’t my fault or any of that shit, went to therapy even. Ian talked me into it, we saved up money and we went. Turns out a lot of that shit really fucked me up. I get panic attacks, did y’know that? Yeah, of course you don’t but sometimes when I smell certain perfume or hear someone yelling too loud, I can’t fucking breathe. It’s called like, uh, PTSD, or some shit. Linda, my therapist, told me about it, got diagnosed, and everything. I mean, fuck, if someone wakes me up too quick, I lose my shit. I try to fight ‘em,” he laughed again.

“And all the emotional stuff, the communication and vulnerability shit that you’re supposed to do in a marriage is just so fucked, too. Did you know it took me three years to kiss him? Ian, I mean. We were already fucking and I just couldn’t do it. It’s still hard to do. Mandy told me it’s hard for her too, to accept that she deserves good things. She still fucking hates herself, but we’re getting there. We,” Mickey paused and remembered what Ian said, “try. So fucking hard, we try. And I blame myself for not being able to do it, for not being able to tell my own fucking husband that I love him more than anything, but I’m trying. I try for Mandy and Ian and that kid in there.” 

Laura was crying at this point, a waterfall of tears had begun to pour out of her and she could barely open her mouth to speak, “I know whatever I have to say will not mean much but I am sorry you had to do that alone.”

“Wasn’t. Well, most of the time, sure, but I always had Ian. Ian was here. Where were you?” 

Laura put a hand on his shoulder and Mickey instinctively leaned in. He hated being touched most days, if anyone other than Ian even so much as grazed him, he would need a shower and a nap. He guessed that there were still some residual feelings for his mother from before she left. Before she left, Mickey would have killed for a hug from her, even if he would act reluctant and disgusted when he actually got it.

“I know what I have done is unforgivable. I am not asking for forgiveness. I want you to be happy. And you are, yes?”

Mickey nodded through tears building in his eyes. He was deliriously happy. So happy he could hardly believe it, even two years later. 

“Tomorrow is our two year anniversary,” he said, more so reminding himself. 

Laura’s face dropped, “Oh, baby, I ruined it.”

“Whatever.” It wasn’t whatever, not by any means. But they didn’t have time for that now. 

Laura sniffed and brought her knees up closer to her chest, “I still remember how I met him. It is not a story appropriate to tell your children but I still think about it. I can still see his face. His horrible face. Angry eyes, so angry. Everything I did only seemed to anger him more. I get things too. The panic, I drop plate and suddenly my body freezes,” 

Mickey scoffs, “Maybe you should see Dr. Linda. She’s real good. Helped my sorry ass.”

Laura wiped the tears off her cheek, “Yes, I suppose I should.”

Again, there was silence. When Mickey was younger, they could talk for hours. He would bounce home and talk in length about some kid he beat up or whatever thug like thing he did that day. His mother would shoot him a scolding glance while his father grunted a response, telling him to sit down and shut up and help him clean a gun or wipe a blade of blood. 

“He’s dead, you know,” Mickey wasn’t sure why he told her that. She probably already knew, she would never come back without knowing the bastard was dead. 

“I know. I kill him,” Laura unfolded herself, leaning back on the back on the porch, spreading her arms out to hold herself up. 

“ _ What? _ ” 

“I  _ killed  _ him. Sorry, sometimes my English is not so good,” she waves a hand as she corrected herself. 

“Not your fucking grammar. I meant what to the fact that you murdered someone,” Mickey’s voice raised. 

“Кульбаба, I came here on your wedding day. I did not know it was your wedding day but happy coincidence. I spoke to your husband, told him to pass along a message-”

“He failed to mention that,” Mickey growled out, though he took a breath, he wasn’t mad at Ian. He might have told him and he just couldn’t remember but even if he didn’t, he was off his tits drunk so it checks out. 

“Yes, so I realize. I went back to that house and shot him,” her voice wavered at the end. 

Mickey paused and pondered. He had thought about killing him a million different times in a million different ways. He thought about killing a lot of people but it had never worked out. 

“Did it help?” 

Laura shook her head. 

“Did it feel good?” 

Laura didn’t respond. She tilted her head and shrugged, “It felt good for a minute. So good, Mikhailo. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders but it did not help. The nightmares still came, the panic, the shock. I do not know if this goes away. It might with the right help but our scars it seems are here to stay. You and Mandy, there is still hope at least, you can work on it. But, my little prince,” she reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her, “it might come back, it might make you freeze and panic. But you have someone to care for you, someone to help, someone to ease the pain. I am not saying there will never be bad days, there will be, some days will be harder than any others. Some days you might want to crawl into bed and never see the sun again. However, the dark days get a little brighter when you have someone willing to enter the darkness with you, yes? You have that, yes?” 

Mickey nodded and removed his chin from her hand, “Jesus, you’re starting to sound like Linda.”

Laura laughed, “Linda is smart woman.” 

He nodded again, he wasn’t sure what else to say. His mother did though. 

“You and Ian raising those children, yes?” 

“Yeah, trying not to fuck ‘em up even more than they already are. Tryin’ to do better than him,” he wasn’t entirely which Him he was referring to. Either Terry or Frank, either one works. 

“By thinking that, you have already done a thousand times better than your father. Or your mother for that matter,” she laughed. 

“Here’s hoping,” Mickey laughed along. 

There was silence, peaceful silence that passed between them easily. 

“Fucking Milkoviches,” Laura said, looking up at the sky. 

Mickey looked at his mother. He looked at her dark hair and pale skin and blue eyes that reminded him of him, of his sister. Then he looked up at the darkening sky, it would be dinner time soon. Ian was probably inside cooking while Liam was at the dinner table, doing his homework with Carl sitting in the living room, watching trashy T.V. The children down the street had probably gone inside ages ago, most were in their homes, settling down. He should probably head in, it was getting cold, the sun was going down. But for now, he looked up at the stars that were making their debut in the sky, coming into view and brightening the space around them. For now, he sat on his porch with the dying ghost of his mother, his PTSD, and a cigarette. 

“Fucking Milkoviches,” he agreed. 

**Author's Note:**

> why did they all immediately accept her into their home without any proof that she was actually related to mickey? where the fuck did frank go? what happened to the flowers mickey brought home? so many unanswered questions...  
> (open to criticism)  
> edit: there is going to be one more part but its hella long so its gonna take a while


End file.
